


sweeter

by homovikings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life, pure crack i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homovikings/pseuds/homovikings
Summary: Derek expected to have to hold back his senses around Stiles, once they started dating, but after their second date they were sitting on the swing on Derek’s front porch and Stiles asked, “Do you want to know what humans consider a big relationship milestone?”





	sweeter

**Author's Note:**

> this is 100% crack b/c i got to thinking like ohh privacy must be pretty rare in a family of werewolves also biology also derek must have constipation issues after everything that has happened in his life and that just takes a toll on your innards and then i tripped over the squatty potty in my bathroom and hhello fic!

One of the great wonders of the world, Derek thinks, is how Stiles manages to make enough noise to rival a stampede of elephants while doing the most mundane of tasks.

Namely — while transitioning from his car to the front steps.

Derek looks up from his crossword puzzle and stares into the distance, listening as Stiles wrestles with the fabric of life itself as he pulls something from the trunk before making his way to the front door. He fumbles his keys three times before getting it right, muttering, “A- _ha_ ,” in an undeservedly smug tone, before stomping his way inside.

“Helloo _ooo_!” Stiles trills, obnoxious as always; Derek sees his carefully curated afternoon of peaceful crosswords and coffee and HGTV chip away. He finds he doesn’t mind. “Honey, I’m home!”

Stiles falls into the kitchen holding a gigantic Amazon box. He drops it onto the kitchen table. Derek watches, unimpressed, as it lands squarely on his open book of Wednesday crosswords. “A box,” Derek remarks drily.

“Not just _any_ box,” Stiles says, turning so he can rummage through the junk drawer for a pair of scissors. He’s smiling widely, as if what Derek said was the funniest thing he’d heard all morning. Knowing his early morning job, Derek’s sure it was. “It’s an _Amazon_ box. It’s a — it’s a gift from the corporate _gods_ , Derek, a, where the _fuck_ are the scissors,” he ducks down to check under the sink, god knows _why_ , why the _fuck_ would scissors be under the _sink_ , “we need to sacrifice a goat or something to Jeff Bezos to thank him for two day delivery — ha!” He straightens up, scissors in his hands.

“Why.” Derek can’t bring himself to finish the question.

“I put them there last week, duh, when I was — remember Scott and I smoked too much and I wanted to fix the leak by cutting the water as it dropped, come on, keep up.”

“You’re a moron.” Derek loves him. Ugh.

Stiles’ grin turns cheeky, as if he knows where Derek’s thoughts went. “You have that gay fond look in your eyes, babe, you can’t fool me anymore.” Stiles reaches for the box, scissors in hand, but Derek feels the need to do something shitty in retaliation for Stiles’ comment so he grabs the box first and swipes down the middle with his claws. “God _damn_ it.”

Because he’s secretly nice, and would do absolutely anything in his power for Stiles at any time of day, he lets him have the bubble wrap stuffed in the box. Stiles takes great pleasure in squeezing the little pockets of air until they pop. It grates on Derek’s ears, but relationships are about compromise, aren’t they.

“What _is_ it,” Derek asks, peering inside.

“No! Nuh-uh!” Stiles drags the box towards himself and turns around, rushing into the living room. “I have to do a grand unveiling! Stay there!”

It’s a larger box, is the thing, so using his refined deductive skills Derek reasons the item within can’t be _small_ , which means it isn’t a new sex toy. He’s a little sad.

He can hear Stiles chuckling to himself from the living room. It’s only been several minutes and already Derek’s day has reached peak excitement levels. He wishes, not for the first time, that Stiles would move in with him already — his prior ideas of a quiet afternoon have long since dissipated, replaced by the resonance of a hyped up Stiles. He wants that every single day.

“Okay!” Stiles shouts. “You can come in now.” He sounds so thrilled.

Derek walks into the living room expecting something, well — _outrageous_ , really, like a stripper pole, and he almost loses himself to the fantasy of Stiles swinging around in lingerie, but since Derek likes to fantasize realistically he visualizes the pole dislodging and Stiles falling to the ground, or trying to do some leg kick while on the pole and hitting Derek in the face, or sliding down too quickly and getting friction burns on his inner thighs. God, he loves that idiot.

What he sees, instead, is… another box. It’s white and has a picture of a stool on it. In big, bold letters he reads the words SQUATTY POTTY.

It’s too ridiculous a title to say out loud; Derek thinks it would knock Stiles into hysterical giggling. “What.”

Turns out, Derek didn’t even _need_ to say it for Stiles to start giggling. “Look, okay, Mr. I’ve-Only-Said-Ten-Words-Since-I-Got-Here, it’s — wait,” he dashes forward and slaps two sweaty hands to Derek’s cheeks and kisses him. “I forgot to do that, hi,” he kisses him again and Derek curses his heart for soaring in his chest. Stiles retreats to stand abreast of the accursed box, putting his hands on his hips proudly. “It is a _squatty potty_ , Derek, an invention meant to — aid in the poop process.” His _lips twitch_ when he says _poop_ , like he’s trying not to _smile_ , Derek is dating an immature _geek_.

“And you brought this here, _why_?” Derek asks. He picks up the box and flips it over, skimming the testimonials and raising an eyebrow at the images.

“We- _eeellll_ ,” Stiles fidgets. Stiles fidgeting is such a fascinating sight, so Derek’s attention is grabbed immediately. “See, after I totally blew your world the other night with that blowjob that made you cry and see jesus —”

“— I didn’t _cry_ , what the fuck —”

“— and you totally lost control and came in my eye and hair? And you were useless afterwards because you were experiencing a miracle? I went into the bathroom and had to wash my eye out because, y’know, jizz? In the eye? 10 out of 10 optometrists don’t recommend it, y’know? I’m sure there’s a pamphlet, somewhere, that says like, Things Not To Put In Your Eye, and jizz is number four, probably, right?”

Derek blinks. “How many things are listed in the pamphlet. What’s one through three.”

“Um, _I_ don’t know, car battery liquid or something, jesus, anyway, the _point_ — Derek, the _point_ , is that, when I was doing that I opened your bathroom cabinet because I was like, oh, he has to have eye drops in there from getting dry eye from staring blankly at so many _walls_ —”

Derek’s eyebrow twitches. Stiles barrels on.

“— and, okay, what do I see? I see _vitamins_ , Derek, vitamins for promoting the regulation of your _bowels_. Poop aides, Derek. I can’t have my boyfriend struggling to have a good shit when there’s something I can do to help.”

It says something that this isn’t weird. It says another thing entirely that Derek’s overcome with a swell of affection. “So you bought — a,” he sighs, “a squatty potty.”

As predicted, Stiles grins. “You know, Bobby Brown once put his finger up Whitney Houston’s butt when she was having trouble pooping. I figured this was way less invasive and wouldn’t scar our sex life.”

There’s nothing Derek can say to that, really, especially when Stiles looks so damn _pleased_ with himself.

The box says the squatty potty helps encourage the ‘natural squat formation’ for a quick bowel movement by contracting the muscles in the way they were meant to be contracted, and it’s not — this must be what love is, he thinks, that Stiles is standing there gifting him with something meant to ease his bowels and there’s absolutely no sense of embarrassment felt by either of them.

His family — before — they had no secrets, no real privacy. In a family of werewolves, nothing is a big deal, not really — he remembers his dad would sit on the toilet and carry on a conversation with his mom, who’d be down the hall stripping everybody’s bed sheets for laundry day. His human siblings would beg for air fresheners with citrus scents, something overpowering, because they’d feel self-conscious, sometimes, after using the restroom, but all of the artificial smells irritated their heightened noses more than biological functions. The only acceptable one was that of clean linen, and to this day Derek associates it with his baby sister, Lillian, during her rebellious phase of walking around in a cloud of the stuff to annoy her ‘were siblings.

After — after everything, when it was just Derek and Laura on the move, every human they encountered shared the same sort of embarrassment over normal things like sex and bathrooms and gas and body odors. Even his betas, at first, had needed time to adjust to the honed senses. Isaac had refused to use the bathroom with any of them within a ten yard radius for months before he got food poisoning and had no choice.

Derek expected to have to hold back on his senses around Stiles, once they started dating, but after their second date they were sitting on the swing on Derek’s front porch and Stiles asked, “Do you want to know what humans consider a big relationship milestone?”

“Sure,” Derek answered, opening his mouth to say something shitty, he can’t even remember, when Stiles ripped a fart that shocked both of them into hysterics. Derek shoved him off the swing and Stiles went down, breathless with laughter, and almost pissed his pants when Derek howled, “My _mouth_ was _open_ , you _asshole_.”

Presently, Stiles is busy opening the box and brandishing the stool, beaming with pride. “My freshman year roommate had one of these, it changed my _life_ ,” he says. “Not even joking. My diet consisted of, like, energy drinks, and chips, and, um, those packets of jerky and cheese from 7/11, and at one point I thought I’d never poop _again_ , but my roommate was like, ‘Bro, try out my squatty potty, bruh, change your life, be born anew,’ and I was like, ‘You sure bro? Is it socially acceptable for one man to use another man’s squatty potty?’ And — anyway, point, it changed me as a human, so it can change you as a werewolf.” He places it on the floor and then sits on the table, propping his feet on the stool. “You just — you just _bam!_ slap it on the ground, prop your feet up and go to town. Whaddya think?”

Derek stares at the stool, then at Stiles, then at the stool, then back at Stiles. He sighs. “I love you,” he says. “Come here.”

Stiles comes. Several times, actually.

Later in the week, when Stiles is at work, he receives a text from Derek.

_love machine 08:23am_  
_wow_

_love machine 08:24am_  
_[poop emoji]_  
  
Stiles laughs so hard he loses a client.

**Author's Note:**

> i won't apologize i won't ever apologize . they're idiots in love and once they have children their oldest takes after derek with constipation issues and their second kid refuses to use the baby toilet and their third kid smears poop all over the wall. derek almost throws up from the smell and stiles douses him in clean linen febreeze. stiles remarks that at least their kid is creative and derek threatens to throw a wadded up ball of paper towels at him.
> 
> i'm on tumblr at mxrles.tumblr.com!


End file.
